Sins
by littleoblivion
Summary: It turns out that in the cover of darkness, everyone we know is struggling with something.
1. Chapter 1

**(Hello lovelies! So I've been trying to write the next chapter for Home for like a week now but I'm at a total block. So I was scrolling through my pinterest and I came upon the following prompt:**

 **Write seven poems dealing with the seven deadly sins. You can't use their names.**

 **And I thought, y'know what would be even more interesting? A fanfiction with seven chapters, each dealing with a different team member and a different sin. SO here we are. I hope you enjoy! For any readers of Home, hopefully I will have another chapter up by the end of the week.**

 **As always, reviews are always greatly appreciated.)**

Envy: (noun) A Feeling of discontented or remorseful longing aroused by someone else's possessions, qualities, or luck.

 _"A tranquil heart gives life to the flesh, but envy makes the bones rot." Proverbs 14:30_

Derek Morgan: Envy

I stand under the warm spray of the shower head, but I cannot feel the blistering water beating onto my skin. I stare at the white tile of the Bureau shower stall and cannot stop myself from slamming my open palm against it. I strike out, again and again, wanting to feel something other than loathing. Something other than shame. I curl my fingers into fists and continue my assault, not even slowing when the skin on my knuckles slices open and blood begins to drip down the grout.

I hear the locker room door swing open and still. It is only now that I realize that I am crying, the sly tears being masked by the shower. I shut off the water that had long since run cold and wonder how long I have been in here, if any one noticed my prolonged absence.

I wrap myself in a towel and step past the curtain. My face is a mask, no one would ever guess the turmoil that boils and storms inside. I make my way to my locker and pull on clothes from my go bag. It is only after pulling on my T shirt that I fully recognize the damage done to my hands. They sting; the torn skin gaping open to create rivulets of blood. I wrap them in paper towels, hoping I don't need stitches because I'm sure as hell not going to the emergency room.

The other agent exits the room and I am once again alone. I walk to the mirror and take a long, hard look at myself. I know what others see: FBI agent, former college football player, a flirt, a good son, someone you can trust and rely on, someone who merits respect.

But I don't see that. How could I? All I see is someone broken. A stupid kid who never had a chance. Or maybe, whose chance was ripped out of his grasp before he could even drive. I am over come with disgust and revulsion and I tighten my fists, blood slowly seeping through the paper towels. I'm the only one who knows that my entire life is facade; carefully constructed and maintained to mask the self loathing I felt almost every moment of the day. The easy going grin, the playful sense of humor, the reputation with the ladies, everything was just to throw everyone off the scent. I lean closer, my nose almost touching the glass, peering into my own eyes. This is not a man you should respect; this is a man to pity and avoid, as if afraid that my darkness will infect you just by breathing the same air.

The door opens again and I straighten, neutralizing my face. I throw away the now soiled paper towels and grab new ones before retrieving my bag from next to the bench and heading to my desk. When I arrive I find everyone gathered together, discussing weekend plans. My baby girl is there, and she opens her arms as soon as she sees me. I can't help the small smile that pulls at my lips as I pull her in for a hug, resting my chin on top of her head. She smells like coffee and sharpies and lavender, and I don't ever want to let her go. She is soft in my arms, and her optimism and joy is almost enough to make me feel whole. But of course there's that little voice in the back of my mind that reminds me that I am garbage, that I don't deserve to kiss the floor she walks upon let alone experience that kind of happiness first hand.

JJ says something teasing to Reid and the boy genius turns red, murmuring under his breath. I laugh too and reach out to tousle his hair.

"Chocolate Thunder! What happened to your hand?" I had forgotten about the paper towels covering my split knuckles and I pause for a moment as Garcia gently takes my hand in hers and pulls back the paper towel."

"Morgan what the hell? Did that happen in the field?" Emily asks, her eyes carefully studying my face.

"Yeah, it's really not a big deal. My hands just got a little banged up when we were chasing the unsub." I shrug.

"Wait, hands?" Garcia pulls my other hand into view from where it has been resting on the small of her back. She shakes her head as she observes the damage. "Sugar, you probably need to get these looked at by a doctor! And I mean a medical doc, Reid, because as much as I love you and as many useful things are crammed in your ginormo brain, you can't give stitches which," she says turning back to me, "you probably need." She finishes with a gentle smack to my chest.

"Baby girl I'm fine! Look, full range of motion." I flex my hands but this only proves to make them start bleeding again.

"Okay well if you're not going to the hospital, you're at least letting me wash these and give you a bandaid." She takes my by the elbow and marches me to her batcave, throwing over her shoulder to the rest of the team that we will be back shortly.

She sits me in her rolling chair and fishes out a first aid kit. As she digs through it, I can't help but watch her face. Even focused on trying to mend my mangled hands, she possesses a kind of contentment that I haven't felt in years- before this job, before Carl Buford, before losing my dad.

"Baby girl how do you do it?" I finally ask.

She raises her eye brows. "How do I do what, hot cakes?"

"How do you stay… How are you… With everything we see, everything we face and fight, how do you hold on to you joy?"

She chews on her lip as she carefully dabs antibacterial ointment on my hands. "I don't know. I guess part of it comes from being separated from the worst of the carnage. I mean yes, I see the pictures and read the reports, but it can't be anything near what you see in the field." She pauses as she lays out squares of gauze across the wound. She covers the gauze with medical tape, taking care that it wasn't too tight or too loose.

"And I guess the other part is I have you guys. You're my own personal super heroes. I don't have to worry about whatever big bad is waiting out there because I know that my team can handle it. I mean, maybe it's a little naive, but I honestly feel like the good guys can and will win. I have faith that the universe will right itself in the end, especially since the good guys have the statuesque SSA Derek Morgan on their side. As long as you're around, I don't really have a reason to worry, you know?" She rests a soft hand against my cheek and smiles.

I smile back but inside I cannot stop the tidal wave that has just erupted inside me. It crashes against my walls, threatening to submerge and drown me from the inside. There is so much warmth and goodness resonating from my friend that in this moment I hate her. I hate her optimism. I hate her blind faith in me. I hate her for this sense of security that seems to surround her. And this make me hate myself even more.

Because I don't actually hate her. Rather, I'm angry that she has those things and I do not. I feel like a lost man, cold and starving, with his face pressed against a bakery window. Just out of reach is safety and survival but I am kept in seclusion, never to take part. I want to feel her happiness. I want to go back to a time when I wasn't hardened and scared and miserable. I want her innocence; I want it so bad that it's as if my very soul has broken apart inside of me, red hot plasma filling me until want to fall to my knees.

"Are you okay? I didn't wrap it too tight, did I?" Her brilliant dark eyes are peering into my own.

And I push down the grief, the anger, the burning want. "No that feels great, baby girl. Thank you." I stand and pull her into a tight hug before pressing a kiss into her hair. "I love you, y'know that? I really do."


	2. Chapter 2

**(Hey everyone! Here's installment 2! Don't forget to read and review!)**

Gluttony: (noun) Habitual excess of greed in eating or drinking.

 _"Do not be with heavy drinkers of wine, Or with gluttonous eaters of meat; For the heavy drinker and the glutton will come to poverty, And drowsiness will clothe one with rags." Proverbs 23:20-21_

Jennifer Jareau: Gluttony

Will had spent weeks planning this date night. He worked out the details with Hotch so that I would be on official vacation time, no matter what case came in. He arranged with Garcia that Henry would stay overnight at her house, so we wouldn't have to rush through anything in order to get back and relieve the nanny. It was supposed to be the perfect night.

I leave work at four, smiling as my coworkers tease me about the night to come. I keep the smile in place as I exit the bull pen, as I step into the elevator, as I cross the lobby and parking lot, and as I get into my car. I smile and wave to the security guard as I accelerate past his booth and onto the street. But as I pull to a stop at a red light half a mile from the BAU, I let it drop. I stop pretending.

I don't want to go out with Will tonight. I love my husband more than anything in this world, not counting our child together of course. On some level I am happier than I have ever been. We have a good life together. However, things have been different since I got back from Afghanistan. When I hold Henry, my heart aches for the baby I lost. When Will runs his hand across my lower back or presses a kiss into the side of my neck I can't stop from shrugging away from his embrace. The shame I feel about the miscarriage and the guilt I harbor about lying to Will makes my skin crawl. I mean, he's my husband. He's supposedly the one person on Earth who will be on my side no matter what happens. But I can't let my guard down.

When I get home, the smile is back in place. Will is playing with Henry in the living room and my heart is all at once filled with love and adoration and broken down inside my chest at the sight. Our little boy sees me and stumbles toward me, his arms outstretched. I pick him up and squeeze him tight, relishing in his warmth and the weight of him in my arms. I press a kiss onto his slightly sticky cheek.

"Hey there, Cher. How was work?" Will brushes the hair out of my face and runs his thumb across my cheekbone. I can't meet the tender look in his eye and turn my head, taking Henry into the kitchen.

"It was good! Overall it was a slow day. Mainly just paperwork." I sit him on the counter and wet a paper towel, wiping at his face.

"So no case? They won't be missing you too bad?"

"As of four pm Eastern time, no cases. Or rather, lots of cases, none that BAU is actively pursuing at the moment."

"Well that's me feel a little better about stealing away the bureau's most beautiful and kick ass profiler." He gives me a crooked grin, the same smile that had taken my breath away when we first met. He places a hand on the counter on either side of me, effectively trapping me. He leans forward and presses a kiss to my lips. I try to respond with enthusiasm but I can tell my attempt falls flat. He pulls back and sighs, looking at me with sad eyes.

"JJ, what's-" He is interrupted by the doorbell. I brush past his arms to get the door. Garcia is standing there, the picture of excitement.

"Is the little man ready to go? I have so many exciting things planned for tonight!" Will appears behind me, Henry in his arms.

"Penny!" he exclaims.

"Hey there, handsome! Oh my goodness every time I see you, you've grown like a foot! You're going to be going off to college any day now!" Henry giggles as Will hands him over.

"I'm gonna go install the car seat in your backseat," he tells Garcia. I stand back, letting her in. She follows me upstairs as I begin throwing things into a bag for the over night trip.

"Soooo… Dish! What are the plans for tonight? Tell me everything!"

I chuckle at her excitement. "I don't really know to be honest. Will has been in charge of all of the planning, he hasn't told me much." I root through a drawer, looking for a pair of pants to match the shirt I've chosen.

"Well that's very mysterious and romantic! Maybe you should pack Henry an extra change of clothes. Y'know in case you're a little too… Worn out from being in the throes of passion to take care of a kid." She wiggles her eyebrows at me, her lips held in a naughty smirk.

"Garcia!" I admonish, gently throwing a pair of socks at her.

"No throwing in the house!" Henry parrots from the bed.

"No you're right baby, no throwing in the house." I agree. To be honest, Will and I hadn't been truly intimate in months. He wanted to of course, but I couldn't. Hell, there were times when I wanted to as well. But I can't.

"Yeah! Well… We'll just have to pull it together. Thank you for watching Henry, by the way. We really owe you one."

"Oh please! Thank _you!_ I love getting to hang out with this guy." Garcia begins a sneak tickle attack on my little one. He screams with laughter.

Will appears in the doorway. "Alright Garcia. Once you're done ticklin' my boy, the car is ready and waiting. All set for your big adventure!"

"Big adventure, yay!" cries Henry.

"Yay!" all three adults respond. I throw a few more things into the bag then hand it over to Garcia. We follow her down the stairs and out to her car.

"Alright big man, come her and give me a hug." Garcia passes Henry over to Will, who wraps his arms around his tiny body. "I love you, Hen. You're gonna have a great time at Aunty Pen's house and she's gonna bring you back tomorrow, okay?" He presses a kiss into his hair. "Give you're Momma a kiss."

I stretch out my hands and Henry does the same. I hold him close and breathe in his sweet scent.

"Bye Momma. Love you."

"I love you too, baby. Have a lot of fun and we'll see you tomorrow." Garcia buckles him into his car seat and shuts the door.

"Alrighty! Well we are off to have a great night with lots of cool movies and sugary candy."

"Suit yourself! Have fun."

"You too!" she calls as she gets into her car. As we stand, waving them off, Will puts his arms around my waist and pulls me into his side. My body freezes up and once Garcia turns the corner I turn and walk into the house.

"JJ wait-"

"I'm going to go get ready." I throw over my shoulder, refusing to look at him.

Two hours later, we're sitting at a table in an Italian restaurant. The lights are low and a single candle glimmers on the table. Generic classical music plays in the background, just audible over the clink of cutlery against china and the murmur of conversation. The waiter has already taken our orders and poured us wine. I swirl the crimson liquid around in my glass, looking at the other diners. Will takes my hand, making me look his way.

"I'm glad we're doing this."

I give him a small smile. "Me too." I finish the wine in my glass and set the glass to the side to be refilled. I pull my hand away from his grasp, instead picking up bread from the basket the waiter left. I tear off chunks and eat them in rapid succession. The buttery flavor explodes on my tongue and I realize I am suddenly ravenous. My stomach aches as if I haven't eaten in days. Will watches me. The waiter comes by and refills my wineglass.

"Can we have more bread when you have a moment?"

"JJ slow down; you're gonna choke, honey." I return the bread to my plate and take a gulp of wine. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah Will. Everything's fine."

"Really? Cause you've barely looked at me since we sat down." I sigh, swinging my eyes to look at him. "Talk to me, Cher."

"About what?"

"About whatever it is that's eating you! Something is wrong and you won't let me in."

"Can we not just enjoy this meal out? I mean, you went to all of this trouble to get me time off and to have Garcia take Henry. Let's just eat." I take a deep swallow of wine. I tear off another chunk of bread.

"Okay… How are things at the Bureau?"

"They're fine. We're busy but we're staying on top of it. How are things at the police station?"

"They're good. Asher's out on medical leave with his shoulder so we're a bit short staffed, but we'll manage."

"Don't forget, next Tuesday we have that parent's night at gymnastics."

"I already put in a request off with the Sergeant."

We sit in silence for a few moments. I drag my fingers through my hair. "You look beautiful tonight," he whispers.

"Thank you." His eyes are so soft and full of love that it it feels as if my very bones will splinter apart under his gaze. For a split moment, I want to tell him everything about Afghanistan. About the choices I made and how they killed an innocent woman, the soldiers I had been sent there to aid, and the baby I never even had a chance to share with him. But I bite my tongue and hide everything away. As hard as it is to see Will look at me with such undeserved adoration, the only thing worse would surely be to see him look at me with the contempt and revulsion I deserve, the same dark loathing that hides inside my soul.

The waiter arrives with our food and slides the plates in front of us with a caution for the hot plates. He tops off my wine and I gratefully dig in to my pasta, hoping that it well help quench the empty feeling I have inside.

The rest of dinner is spent stuffing myself with food and avoiding Will's gentle probes into what has been bothering me. I have several more glasses of wine, and by the time Will pulls the SUV into our driveway, I'm more than a little drunk. I walk towards the front door, stumbling a bit between the alcohol and my heels on the grass. Will follows behind me, observing. Once inside I throw down my wrap and purse on the couch and make my way to the kitchen. I take a bottle of wine off the rack and retrieve a glass from the drying rack.

"Jayje, honey don't you think you've had enough?"

I busy myself at the counter, keeping my back turned to him. "I'm a grown woman. If I want to have a glass of wine, I think I'll be fine."

"Well yes, but you've already had like five." I can feel the heat of his body as he comes to stand directly behind me. He takes the wine from my hand, takes a sip, and sets it to the side. He brings his hands to my shoulders and begins to knead at the knots he finds there. The pressure feels good on my tight muscles and I relax the tiniest bit. Then his soft lips are on the tender patch of skin just behind my jaw bone and suddenly the room doesn't contain enough oxygen to fill my constricted lungs. I try to brush past but he grabs me around the waist and pulls me close.

"Will…"

"C'mon Jen. Henry's at Garcia's and it's been so long since I've really held you in my arms…"

He leans in for a kiss and I pull sharply away. I take another drink of wine and begin to raid our pantry, anxiously trying to find something to occupy my mouth and mind.

"Enough JJ! What is it? Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?" He has finally lost his composure. He untucks his shirt from his pants and unbuttons the sleeves, rolling them towards his elbows.

I take a handful of goldfish from the bag and eat them, one at a time, not looking at him."What? No. I already told you, nothing is wrong-"

"Bullshit!"

I raise my voice to match his; we're now shouting at each other from opposite sides of the kitchen. "You don't get to talk to me like that!"

"Well hell, JJ! What exactly do you want me to do? Something is obviously wrong and you won't admit it, let alone talk about it, and I'm feelin' left out in the cold here!"

"Just drop it! Can't you see I just want to be left alone!" As soon as I say the words, I can see how much they hurt him, but it doesn't mean they're any less true.

"Fine. You wanna be left alone? Wish granted." He turns on his heel storms off into the living room.

"Will, wait!" I follow him, watch as he grabs his jacket and keys.

"No. Ever since you came back it's been like you can't stand me, like you can't even bare to look at me, and God damn it I have tried to be understanding and patient but if you can't open up and at least admit that something is going on, then I don't know what else there is to do tonight."

"Will!" I cry, but with a slamming of the front door he is gone. I am left alone in my living room. I slowly walk back to the kitchen. I numbly reach for another handful of goldfish but artificial cheese flavor does nothing to soothe me. I go to the fridge and try to find something to fill this void. Will's words reverberate in my mind as leftover pizza, potato chips, the oatmeal raisin cookies I buy to pack in his lunch, also disappear mindlessly into my mouth.

Suddenly I am too full, bursting at the seams. I stumble into our downstairs bathroom. It's too much, I have too many feelings rattling inside my rib cage. I kneel in front of the toilet and my middle finger finds its way down my throat pressing on the back of my tongue. I haven't done this since high school and yet the movements come as easily as if it were yesterday. The barely digested food runs over my hand, into the toilet bowl. I keep pressing, I need everything out. I accidentally press too far and my fingernail cuts the back of my throat. The next time I retch, it is stained with slight bloody tint.

It is only now that I cry. The tears begin to flow and I find that I can't stop them. I slam the lid shut and flush before washing off my hand and mouth at the sink. I swipe messily at my cheeks. I make my way back to the kitchen and my glass of wine. I down the rest of the tart liquid and go to refill it before reconsidering and abandoning the glass all together and drinking straight from the bottle.

I feel lonely and abandoned, yet there is a voice inside my head who says that I deserve it. My head and heart both ache, and my senseless sobs begin to take on the shape of Will's name. I take another drink of wine and retrieve my phone from my purse on the couch. I hit the number 1 speed dial and as it rings I rehearse my apology to my husband. However, when he answers his voice is gruff and low with hurt, and I find that I can't speak, only cry. I end the call and drop my phone on the couch. I grab the bottle and kick off my heels before making my way messily up the stairs.

I sit criss cross on my master bathroom floor and weep. I mourn the lives lost and secrets kept and how much I love Will and Henry and how stupid I was to push them away instead of cling to them. The tears are never ending. I am almost to the end of the bottle when I feel the lurch in my stomach. I crawl to the toilet and lift the lid just in time. I try my best to keep my hair held back but it's a losing battle and then suddenly someone else is holding it back. Will grabs a hair tie from the counter and hastily secures my long tresses back before rubbing slow circles on my back. I heave and heave until my core muscles scream in protest.

It finally subsides and I turn so that my back is against the tub. Will, my wonderful Will, flushes the mess and wets a washcloth. I use it to wipe my mouth as well as mascara streaked tears as he gets me a glass of water from the sink. Then he sits beside me.

Slowly through my rambling and sometimes incoherent tears, I tell him everything. Truly everything. And he cries for the life we lost but he never lets go of my hand.

"Do you hate me?" I ask when I finish.

"Now you listen to me, Jennifer Jareau. There isn't a thing you could do that would ever make me hate you. You are my wife, and I love you and Henry more than anything else on this Earth. I wish you would have told me this sooner but it doesn't matter. Now it's out and I don't blame you. Not for one single bit of it. I love you."

"I love you too, Will. More than I can say." He helps me to my feet and stays with me as I brush my teeth and wash my face. Then he gently leads me to our bed. I kiss him and he responds before pulling back.

"No Cher. It's been a long night. That can wait, I never meant to pressure you about it."

But I shake my head. "No. I want this. I don't want to be apart from you. I need this." And our lips come together, and then our bodies shortly after. And the next morning, waking up safe and secure in his arms, the hunger in my soul finally feels satisfied.


	3. Chapter 3

**(Alright! Here is chapter three. Can I just say, writing from Rossi's perspective was really nice? It was a point of view I had never written before, and it was a nice challenge. I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to follow and review!)**

Greed: (noun) a selfish and excessive desire for more of something (as money) than is needed

" _What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?" Mark 8:36_

David Rossi: Greed

"Woah… Sir your house is like, unbelievable. Like this is something out of a movie. Was a movie filmed here? I think I remember this from one of those spy movies with Brad Pitt…" I chuckle at Penelope's exuberant reaction to my home. Granted, she's not wrong. After a long life of serving, first in the Marines, then in the FBI, I had found a small haven in my home.

"Well, I don't think any movies have been filmed here, but to be fair I'm not home much so maybe." I take her coat and hang it in the closet just past the stairs. "I think everyone is in the living room, but Reid may have snuck off to the library. Can I get you a glass of wine?"

"Uh, but of course!"

"Red or white?"

"I'll start off with white, my liege." I point her toward the living room and step into the kitchen to pour her drink. I uncork the Chardonnay and grab a glass from the china cabinet. The oven begins to beep and I quickly don an oven mitt, pulling the pan of appetizers from the bottom rack. I transfer them onto a platter and bring it and Penelope's wine into the adjoining room.

The team is milling about talking. Will and Aaron are standing at the fireplace, talking in semiserious tones. Jen and Emily seated on the loveseat under the window, both consumed with laughter. Derek is occupying the couch opposite them, with Penelope occupying his knee. I walk forward and present her glass and place the fig and goat cheese tapenade in my hand next to the caprese salad and prosciutto flatbread already on the coffee table. Through the french doors I can see Jack and Henry chasing each other around the yard. I don't see Spencer, and can only assume that I was correct in my earlier deduction and he is in the library.

"Dinner should be served in roughly twenty minutes!" I call out to everyone.

"Rossi, how many bedrooms do you have here?" Emily queries.

"I have five bedrooms with six baths."

"Five! What in the world do you need five bedrooms for?" jokes Morgan, his arms wrapped around Penelope's waist.

"What I do in my own house is none of your business!" I return with a grin.

"Can we have a tour? I would love to see the entire house." begs Jen.

"Ooh yeah! And shen she says entire, we mean entire. Even the secret bat cave which I can only assume is accessed through a trick bookcase," injects Penelope.

I hold up my hands. "Okay, I'll take you on a tour, everyone follow me. I lead the group down a short hallway into the library. Spencer is sitting in an armchair in the corner, gently pouring over my antique copy of Alessandro Manzoni's _The Betrothed,_ in the original Italian.

"Rossi this is in excellent condition!" he tells me, turning the delicate pages.

"You're more than welcome to borrow it," I assure him.

I lead the group out of the library, back into the foyer. "Alright upstairs first, or downstairs?"

"Wait your house has three levels?" asks Penelope.

"Where do you suppose I keep the bat cave?" I dead pan. We take the stairs to the upper level and I give a quick tour of the four bedrooms and respective bathrooms. Then I open a door to reveal a small elevator. "We can't all fit at once, we'll have to go in groups."

"Uh, no worries, I'll take the stairs," Morgan hurriedly replies.

"Oh sweetness, I always forget you're afraid of elevators."

"Pretty Mama, I'm not afraid of anything, so you can just get that thought out of your head. I'm just going to save us time by taking the stairs." Derek begins to descend, pulling Penelope after him. Aaron and Will decide that they will also take the stairs and I proceed into the elevator with both female agents.

"When was this place built, Rossi?" Jen asks.

"1983. But the contractor did a wonderful job of instilling old world charm into the place. I purchased it back in 2004."

"Did it come as is or did you do some reno?" Emily runs her hand along the smooth wood paneling that covers the walls of the elevator.

"For the most part it was just how you see it today. I added a few things here and there." We come to a halt and the door slides open. Wejoin the others and I take them through the fifth bedroom, the laundry room, and the garage. Finally I open the door into my favorite room in the house: the den. With it's giant wood burning fireplace and oak panneling, the room is decidedly old fashioned. A poker table dominates the majority of the floor space and there is a permanent lingering smell of cigar smoke.

"This is a great space, Rossi," comments Will, running his hand over the faded green felt on the large table.

"Do you play any poker?"

He gives me a lopsided grin. "I can hold my own in Texas Hold 'Em."

"I'll tell Jen next time I'm having a poker night, I'd love to have you join." I point across the room at Emily. "You however are not invited."

Her mouth drops open in feigned innocence. "What? Just because I happen to be well versed in 7-card stud?"

"Because you'll wipe the table with every single one of us." We proceed back upstairs and through the french doors onto the stone terrace. The boys see us exit the house and come running over.

"Momma I'm hungry," cries Henry, wrapping an arm around Jen's leg.

"Well I think dinner is almost ready," she tells him.

"If you all want to take you places in the dining room, the pasta should be a just a few moments."

We pass a warm evening in the dining room, everyone laughing and talking, my pasta receiving heartfelt praise. However, as the night grows darker and the grandfather clock in the hall chimes off hour after hour, my guests slowly begin to file out. I retrieve Emily and Derek's coats from the closet.

"Are you sure you have to go? You're more than welcome to stay the night. As you pointed out, I've got more than enough room!" I keep my tone light and cheerful, hiding the desperation that is slowly beginning to seep into my core.

"Oh thank you Rossi, but I have to get home to Sergio. Thank you for the wonderful food and a great night." She presses a kiss to my cheek.

"What about you? I'm sure there's some sort of football game playing, we can play it on my big screen. I have a prime 1947 brandy that I've been wanting to break out, what do you say?"

Derek just smiles and shakes my hand. "I'd love to but I have an early morning training session tomorrow, I need to get home to bed."

I smile and concede, and wave them through the door. I watch through the window as they walk to their cars and pull out of my driveway. I flip the lock on the door and engage the alarm, before turning to face the foyer.

Isn't it amazing how much life and vitality friends can bring to a space? During the course of the evening the house had seemed warm and cozy, a peaceful place to be. Now, with everyone I care for retreated to their own homes, the light doesn't seem to cast quite as far and a chill inhabits the empty rooms.

I go to the kitchen and wash all the dishes from tonight by hand. Jazz plays from the stereo in the next room and I hum along. When they are done I wipe my hands and go about shutting down the house. Lights are switched off, candles and fireplaces are extinguished. I turn off the stereo and draw the curtains on the french doors, hiding away the empty lawn. I walk upstairs, running my hand over the cold iron railing. I shrug out of my button down and exchange my slacks for pajama pants. I crawl into bed and stare into the darkness.

'What's the point?' A small voice from the back of my mind asks. 'All of the things you've amassed, this house, your cars, you vintage books and wines, what do they do?'

Nothing, is the sad answer. My heart aches at the cold, empty spot in bed next to me. A whole life spent chasing achievements and wealth and admiration, and I have nothing to show for it but material possessions and three failed marriages. I had found happiness with both Carolyn and Joy, but my ambition had gotten the best of me and left me blind as to how much I needed them. My third wife, Roxanne, hadn't necesarrily brought me joy but it doesn't matter because in the end I lost her too.

I turn onto my side, choosing to stare at the alarm clock on the bedsie table rather than the constant reminder of the life I had chosen. To look at me on paper would find a man who has achieved success in his chosen careers and earned a comfortable position in life. But look in my heart and you wouls find a man bound and destroyed by his own loneliness.


	4. Chapter 4

**(Hello lovely readers! Here is the next installment. SO as a warning, this chapter is about Lust, so as a result, it's a bit... adult. So consider yourself warned. I hope you enjoy!)**

Lust: (noun) uncontrolled, intense sexual desire or appetite.

" _Do not desire her beauty in your heart, Nor let her capture you with her eyelids. For on account of a harlot one is reduced to a loaf of bread, And an adulteress hunts for the precious life. Can a man take fire in his bosom And his clothes not be burned?" Proverbs 6:25-29_

Emily Prentiss: Lust

I have been trying to get my paperwork done all day, but I continually find myself distracted. I'm attempting to focus on recording the details of our latest case but instead my mind keeps drawing on the blonde agent sitting just a few feet from me. She's also doing paperwork, her eyebrows drawn in concentration and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. _Images dance through my imagination, of JJ, in my bed, biting her lip as I explore every inch of her skin with my fingers and then my lips._ I give my head a quick shake, reminding myself where I am. I return my gaze to the open file and take a deep breath.

When I was studying at Yale I took a class on ancient Greek literature. I remember reading stories of the famed Helen and scoffing at the ridiculousness of it all. How could one woman's beauty be capable of bringing about global conflict? It seemed like classic account of male objectification and pride, and altogether an elaborate excuse for going to war. But the moment I first saw JJ, I finally got it. She had walked in to Hotch's office to let him know she was waiting to present a case. Her hair was shorter then, and a different shade of blonde, but she was every bit as beautiful as she is now. In that instant, I understood. I could suddenly comprehend why Paris would travel the sea to claim a woman belonging to someone else, and if I were in Menelaus's position I surely would have dispatched any soldiers at my disposal to bring her back. Yes, in one moment Jennifer Jareau become my own personal Helen of Troy, and in that same moment I found myself damned.

"Hey you." I drag my eyes from my paperwork to find her big, blue eyes just inches from my own. "Having problems concentrating?"

I lean back in my chair, needing to put space between us so that I can breathe. "What makes you say that?"

She laughs and perches on the edge of my desk, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Oh I don't know, maybe the fact that you've been working on the same page for like two hours. I mean, I know you're not Reid, but c'mon. With a brain like yours you should have been done with it by now," she teases lightly.

I let out a soft chuckle. "A lot on my mind, I guess."

She smiles. "Anything you wanna share with the class?"

 _You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met. There is no one, man or woman, who can even half compare to you. On top of that, you're funny, intelligent, compassionate, kind, and hard working. I think you are the closest thing to perfection I could ever hope to find and I would give anything to have you. You deserve someone to cherish you, to worship you. I could do that for you, if you would only give me the chance._

"No, it's nothing especially important."

"You sure? You have the classic 'I'm Emily Prentiss and I can't let you into my head because I'm complicated and have to keep my guard up' look in your eye."

"It's really nothing."

"Are you sure? I've been told I'm an awful good listener if the right person's talking." She gives a crooked smile.

 _I'm in the shower, warm water running over my body. JJ is standing behind me, her mouth latched onto the skin of my neck, one hand massaging my chest the other disappearing between my legs, drawing loud moans from my lips. "That's right baby. Let me know how good that feels. I could listen to you all night."_

I clear my throat. "I'm fine, but thank you." She reaches out and grabs my hand. She opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted.

"Mommy!"

We both turn to see Henry running towards her, Will following in his wake. She drops my hand, forgotten.

"Hi baby!" she swings him up on to her hip. Will wraps his arms around the both of them and press a kiss onto her cheek. My stomach gives an unpleasant twist. I guess this makes him mighty King Menelaus, and me the love sick Paris.

"Hey Cher, hey there Emily."

I give him a weak smile. "Hi Will. What are you up to?"

"Oh well Henry and I are going on a camping trip, aren't we bud?"

"We're gonna pee in the woods!" the tiny blonde shouts.

We all laugh at the little boy's exuberance. "We're jut stopping by on our way out of the city."

"What time will you be back?" asks JJ.

"Sunday afternoon. Oh and don't forget, the carpet people are coming to measure the bedroom tomorrow. They should be by 'round 11."

Listening to him talk about these small, domestic details makes my mouth fill with the bitter taste of disappointment. _It should be me._

"Okay, yeah no problem."

"Wait Jayje, if the boys are going to be out of town we should go out for a girls' night," I throw out.

"Yeah Cher! Go have fun while we're gone. Cause we're gonna be havin' lots of fun!" He directs the last sentence to the little boy in JJ's arms.

"Like when we pee in the woods!"

JJ laughs and kisses his cheek. "Alright well have fun baby, and have fun with Daddy, okay? I love you."

She hands him to Will and they exchange a tender kiss that I have to turn away from.

"I love you. Don't go ridin' off with some prince charming while I'm away, y'hear?"

She giggles and gives him another kiss. "You have nothing to worry about, Detective."

Several hours later, we find ourselves at a bar in downtown Washington, several mixed drinks in. It's just JJ and I, Penelope having reluctantly declined our offer due to having a head cold. We've been laughing and reminiscing about our days at the BAU.

"Okay, but seriously. Spill the beans. What were you thinking about all day?" Her cheeks are flushed with alcohol and her eyes are sparkling.

"It's, it's nothing!" I maintain.

"It's obviously something!"

I sigh and roll my eyes, realizing that evading the question isn't going to work. "Okay, I… I like someone," I confide.

She lets out a small squeal and taps her hands on the bar top. "Emily! Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"It's really not that big of a deal. It's unrequited, so it really doesn't matter."

"Uhm, Mr. Bartender?" He looks our way. "We're going to need two shots of your finest tequila, thank you." She turns to me. "I will use every interrogation technique I know to get this out of you."

I laugh. "I don't think the BAU approves shots as a credible way to obtain information."

"Well it should be!" We are given both shots and a few wedges of lime. She licks tender patch of skin where her thumb meets her hand and without a thought grabs my hand does the same. My heart thunders in my chest and my face reddens, but she doesn't see as she's already sprinkling salt on the moistened portions of skin. She picks up her drink and I copy her. "To the mystery man who has captured your attention." She says cheekily, clinking her glass against mine. We lick the salt, down the tequila and suck the limes.

"Okay so tell me more. What's his name?"

I shake my head, letting out a shaky laugh. "I can't."

"Of course you can! It's me! You can tell me anything!"

"Jayje it's really not a big thing."

"Emily Prentiss you're going to be the death of me!" she cries. She takes a moment to stretch her arms above her head and it causes her shirt to rise a couple of inches, bringing just a sliver of her taut, tanned stomach into view. I can't tear my eyes away.

"Okay where does he work?"

The alcohol loosens my tongue. "It… It's not… a him."

Her face is frozen for a moment before breaking out in a huge grin. "What? You never told me!" She lightly smacks my arm.

"Well, it never came up."

"Okay does she work with us?"

"JJ it really doesn't matter who it is, because she's not interested." I turn from her slightly, taking a drink of my margarita. "I mean, why would she be?" I mumble under my breath.

"Hey." She grabs my hand, making me look at her. "You are a catch, Emily Prentiss. I mean, look at you! You're a super hot, intelligent, bad ass FBI agent. Who wouldn't be interested in that?" She leans in closer, looking me in the eyes. "I'm serious, Em. Don't sell yourself short. You're amazing."

I'm captivated by the look in her eye and suddenly I can't stop myself. I lean forward, closing the distance between us, and press my lips against hers. She sits, frozen in shock for a moment. My lips work against hers, wanting more, wanting anything. And for an instant, she responds, moving her lips against my own. And then she pulls away and the spell is broken.

"Emily. Emily, what the- What?"

My mouth drops open and panic begins to buzz throughout my body. "I'm sorry, I… I don't… I'm sorry."

"I mean, I'm flattered. But… I have Will, and Henry, and I don't… I'm straight," she finishes awkwardly.

"I know, I'm so… I shouldn't have, I… Oh my god." I cover my face with my hand.

"I uhm… I should go."

"Wait JJ no, I'm sorry!"

"No Em, I'm sorry." She throws down a couple of twenties to cover her bill, slides from her bar stool and leaves the bar. I sit there in silence, my world crashing down around me. Tears begin to flow down my cheeks. It is only now that my brain decides to remind me that in the end, Paris is slain in battle, and the fair Helen is returned to her King. Paris doesn't get a happy ending, and neither it seems will I.


	5. Chapter 5

**(Hello beauties! Here is the next chapter, Pride. It's one that hit very closely to me, because this is a particular circumstance that I've experienced several times, so I hope you enjoy. Also! For any readers of Home, I wrote Chapter 12 today, I'm just waiting to get it back from my beta [My wonderful friend offered to be my beta, how fancy!] so it will hopefully be posted sometime today. SO be on the lookout!)**

Pride: (noun) a feeling or deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one's own achievements

" _For if anyone thinks he is something when he is nothing, he deceives himself." Galatians 6:3_

Spencer Reid: Pride

We've been tracking a serial killer through the streets of New York City for four days, and after countless man hours spent studying his movements, every single thought, we finally have him cornered in a warehouse in Brooklyn. We proceed through the mostly abandoned building, guns drawn, flashlights sweeping over the mangled remnants of metal car parts. Morgan gestures that he's going to take the far side and that I should proceed forward. I tighten my grip on my gun and step softly, endeavoring to make as few sounds as possible as I make my way through the dusty space.

I here something shift just ahead of me and I focus my attention in on it. Clearing a pillar, I see the latest victim, a restaurant owner by the name of Laurens Smith, on the ground. His hands are bound behind him and his mouth is gagged. I instinctively holster my gun and hurry forward to help him. However, before I have the chance, I am grabbed from behind. A strong arm pinions my arms to my torso and I feel the cold metal of a barrel against my temple.

"That's enough agents! Come out and show yourselves, or I blow the his brains out." His shout has it's intended effect, and my team slowly stalks in from throughout the warehouse, guns carefully trained on us.

"Mr. Jacobs, think this through. This isn't what you want to happen. What is this going to achieve?" Hotch speaks up and although his voice sounds cool and calm, I can sense the currents of apprehension underneath it.

"What I want is a safe place to live! Is that so much to ask?"

"No, it's not. Is this about what happened to your daughter?"

I can hear his breaths growing ragged in my ear, as if he were on the cusp of tears. "She was just a little girl! She asked to go play in the park and- and I said yes!"

"You couldn't know. You couldn't know that she wouldn't come home." reasons Emily.

"Those… animals killed her. My Amy. They murdered her!"

"And that was wrong. They shouldn't have done that. They were wrong to take her away from you." As Emily placates him, I can see the rest of the team exchanging glances, communicating about which steps should be taken next.

"But Ray, that was thirty years ago. Why look for justice now? Amy's killer's are more than likely dead themselves, or at least moved on." Rossi take half a step nearer.

"Stay back!" he shouts, jamming the gun tighter into my skin. I cannot stop the grimace from appearing on my face. "You say they're gone, but a few months ago, another little girl was killed. Ava Sander. And she looked just like Amy. The same blonde hair, blue eyes… It has to have been the same people. It has to!"

I lick my lips nervously and interject, "Actually the chances of it being the same offender after this period of time-"

"Shut up!" he screams.

JJ steps out from behind the pile of metal that has been concealing her. She slowly holsters her own gun and raises her hands, stepping forward. She makes steady eye contact with the grief-stricken man.

"Mr. Jacobs, look at me. Amy was born in '78, yes?"

The man nods. "In June."

"Okay so if she would have lived she would be about my age now. And she would probably look a lot like me, I imagine. Do you think this is what she would want?"

"I don't know what she would want, because she was stolen from me."

She lets a small smile blossom on her face. "Y'know, even as a little kid, I was always a daddy's girl. He would take my sister and I out fishing and hiking. He's the one who taught me how to play soccer. Did you ever do anything like that with Amy?"

His voice falters as he replies, "We used to go ice skating. She was a natural, even when she was just starting out. And after we finished we would go out for hot chocolate." He chokes out a sob. "I let her get extra whipped cream."

"And she loved you so much." JJ takes another step closer to us. I can see the rest of the team fanning out behind her, but he can't seem to take his eyes from hers. "You were her hero."

"I should have protected her!"

"You didn't know. And she forgives you for that. And she wouldn't want you to do this, okay? I don't want you to do this. So I need you to lower the gun and place it on the ground. As soon as you put it down, and they can tell you won't hurt anyone else, we can leave here. We can go someplace, and get a hot chocolate, and you can tell me everything. How does that sound?"

I can feel his entire body shaking. "Ex- extra whipped cream?"

Her smile widens. "Of course, I wouldn't want it any other way." For a heart stopping moment, no one breathes. Then he removes the barrel from my temple, and loosens his hold on me. He lowers the gun to the ground and holds his hands in the air, never once taking his eyes from JJ. When I am free, Morgan grabs my arm and jerks me behind him. Hotch comes forward and cuffs Mr. Jacobs.

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry," the grown man sobs. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"I know. I know." JJ responds soothingly. She takes him by the elbow and leads him out of the warehouse to the waiting police cars.

Once he is gone, Hotch rounds on me. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

I nod my head and brush my hair back from my forehead. "I'm fine."

"Good. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I didn't mean-"

"We were tracking a serial killer who is known to be deranged and not afraid to kill bystanders to achieve his true targets and you decide it's a good idea to holster your gun?"

"I saw Laurens on the ground-"

"And you never thought that it would probably mean that Ray Jacobs was nearby?"

"I was just-"

"Just what, Reid? You could have been killed!"

Derek takes a step forward. "Hotch, go easy on the kid-"

"No!" He takes another step forward, so that only a foot separates our faces. "I swear Reid, for someone so smart, how you can be so stupid sometimes escapes me." I feel hot, potent anger rise in my chest, but I push it down. "I was just trying to care for the victim on the ground, Hotch."

"Well you should be more aware of your surroundings!"

"I didn't hear-"

"Of course not! You were too deep inside your own mind to-"

"Stop interrupting me!" It's like a string has snapped inside me. Hotch's face reflects shock at my raised voice.

"Excuse me?"

" I made a mistake okay? But no one was hurt. And you don't get to treat me like a child that stepped out of line. I made a mistake but that doesn't make me stupid." I turn on my heel and walk away, fuming. I hear Morgan call out after me, but I don't slow my pace. I wrench open the back door to the SUV and get inside.

Where did he get off, insulting my intelligence? I may not be a lot of things. I would never be physically fit, or a trained marksman, or particularly comfortable talking to people. But I do have one thing and it's my brain. Throughout the years, people have tried to tear me down because of it. Throughout school and college I was mercilessly mocked and teased, but I couldn't quench my thirst for knowledge. I'm brilliant, damn it. I can read 20,000 words a minute and remember facts on any given subject for the rest of my life. I was fluent in several languages and had used my skills to put away countless unsubs.

That's what hurts the most. The Bureau was supposed to be the one place where a freak like me could be useful. And I thought that my team, my _friends,_ admired my brain. But apparently not, One mistake and it doesn't matter.

A small voice, barely audible, ventures that Hotch was just upset. I had come very close to getting hurt and he had been scared. Once the threat had been removed, his fear had been channeled into the medium Hotch knew best: anger.

But my ego is too wounded to hear reason. I stare out the window of the SUV. Eventually Morgan and Emily climb into the front seat, but I return their attempts at conversation with monosyllabic responses. Once I am back on the jet, I bury my nose in my novel, but I'm still too upset to focus on the words on the page.

"Reid." I look up from my book to find that Hotch has sat down across from me. He's leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. I say nothing.

"I just wanted to apologize. I realize I was a little tough on you today." I give a curt nod and look back at my book. "I didn't mean it, when I called you stupid. It was just the heat of the moment."

"Do you realize the other places I could work, with my degrees and my IQ?" Now he regards me in silence.

"Anywhere. Even now, I get requests from NASA, from Harvard, from Caltech, even the president's office."

"So why don't you go?"

"Because I thought I had found a home here. I thought this was the one place where I could be truly accepted and even valued."

"Reid, please don't misunderstand, I do value you-"

"My brain is all I have, Hotch. I'm not shallow enough to assume that I have other attributes that even half compare. But I'm smart. I am. And for you to belittle that, to take that distinction away from me… I didn't think it was a depth that you would stoop to."

His face is the picture of shock. I reopen my book. "Reid. Reid, please look at me." I oblige his request.

"I'm sorry. Honestly, From the bottom of my heart, I apologize. I never meant to make you feel like I thought of you in an inferior fashion. I greatly appreciate everything you do for this unit, and I am proud to have someone of your extensive knowledge and caliber on this team. We couldn't do a fraction of the things we do without you."

I nod slightly, taking in his words. "Thank you," I finally reply. He reaches out pats my knee before returning to his seat. I turn to look out the window. The sun finishes it's rapid descent behind the horizon as I reflect on the day.


	6. Chapter 6

**(Hey everyone! I'm finally back with the sixth chapter. To be honest this chapter was hard to write for several reasons:**

 **1\. I have had an awful case of writer's block.**

 **2\. Garcia was honestly the hardest person for me to assign a sin to. I honestly feel like she is a wonderful character whose good far outweighs her bad. I refused to have her sin be pride. I know this is one that she regularly displays, but I am not about to demonize a female character for feeling good about herself. I will not.**

 **3\. I ended up choosing sloth, and it's one of the hardest to define sins, so I had to really explore what that would mean in today's world.**

 **4\. Garcia's chapter obviously had to deal pretty heavily with technology, and can I just say, I am absolute garbage with tech stuff. Like, please don't roast me if my technobabble is completely ludicrous, I did the best I could. Any who, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Only one chapter left!)**

Sloth: (noun) a disinclination to action or labor; spiritual apathy and/or inactivity

" _Through slothfulness the roof deteriorates, and a house leaks because of idleness." Ecclesiastes 10:18_

Penelope Garcia: Sloth

My phone begins to ring and I push off from my desk, rolling towards it in my chair. I jab the answer button with the end of my pen.

"Go ahead, peasant, your dutiful queen listens."

"Garcia, I need you to run a set of parameters against our earlier list." Hotch begins to rattle off ages, occupations, and car makes and models. I quickly enter the new info into my database, narrowing down the list.

"Okay that brings us down to a pool of 64 men in the area. I need more."

"Garcia can you filter out anyone who hasn't visited outside of the country? In order to run such a sophisticated operation this guy has to be well educated and comfortable in most situations."

"Anything for you my lovely Emily, just a moment… Unfortunately that didn't narrow it much. Looking at 49 names."

"And we already weeded out anyone that doesn't have an extensive background in technology, yes?"

"I know I have the robust and youthful appearance of a much younger woman, but this is hardly my first rodeo, Reid," I scoff.

"Okay well keep digging and hit us back if you find anything."

"Will do, boss man. PG out." I hit the button again and roll back to my primary computer. I crack my knuckles, staring at the list before me. "Alrighty guys. Now you're all pretty good, but not all of you are good enough to pull off this level of chaos. But no worries, because none of you are as good as me." I reopen the website the unsub has been using to live stream his murders around the globe.

Every case we take makes me sick to my stomach, but the guys who exploit my baby, technology, in order to hurt others get under my skin like nothing else in this world. And this guy… he was a real piece of work. He was kidnapping women from various large cities and then broadcasting the subsequent torture and murders, taking requests from sickos all over the globe.

I dive into the coding of the website , trying to find any road maps that can clue me into where this guy is operating from. The further I get into the data, the more obstacles I face. I'm rerouted to proxy after proxy, pinging around the world. Just as I begin to grow frustrated at my lack of findings, I spot it: a small sequence, hidden in the HTML for an ad is his signature. I isolate it and loop it through the system, extracting his frequent hits from the code. As data tours begin to light up on my map, I take the corresponding coordinates and use them to filter my previous list. As the program sorts the locations, I hit Hotch's speed dial.

"Yeah?"

"Okay so I got lucky and found a bit of code that I used to see where the unsub had been active in the past and I'm using that info to narrow the list."

"How narrow?"

"Let's see, give it a second to work it's magic… I can narrow it to just three names."

"Excellent, give us the names.

"Okay I'm gonna be spitting this pretty fast but info is live streaming to your tablets as I speak. Guy number one would be Alvin Krause. He's 31, an IT specialist who freelances for several different law firms. He graduated from Cornell, and he has traveled outside of the US to several countries, including Italy, Russia, and Germany, where his father is a citizen."

"Guy number two is Sal Winters, 32, he's actually employed as live sound mixer for one of the national tours of _Wicked_ , which he is crazy over qualified for, seeing as he did his undergrad at MIT and his masters at Columbia. He's traveled abroad extensively, with special attention paid to countries in South America."

"Finally behind door number three we find Peter Xavier, a 28 years old graduate of Carnegie Mellon. He's had problems holding down a job over the past years though. The longest thing he held down was programmer position with a medical firm in Ohio, but he only stayed for like five months."

"Okay so I think we can go ahead and rule out number three, he would need a steady income to support himself in the months between the murders." Emily puts in. A few clicks of my keyboard and his info disappears from my screen.

"So Krause has ties to Europe, does he have anything questionable in his past?"

"Negative, Dark Chocolate. He married his college sweetheart and they got a divorce a few years later. He's been on his own ever since."

"What about Winters?"

I'm about to tell Emily that he's a negative as well when a new window opens on my screen. "Oh my god."

"What? What is it Garcia?" I try to answer Hotch but words desert me. The window is a video chat room, and the camera is trained on a young woman, clad only in a tank top and underwear, hanging from the ceiling by chains around her wrists.

"Sir… It's him. He's opened the video chat room."

"Can you shut it down?"

"No. Not without breaking the connection and losing our one connection to him."

"Okay focus, Mama. Was there anything in Winter's background?"

I drag my eyes away from the window and frantically type away. "Nothing that I can see! He's just a guy!"

"Go back to the website. There has to be something to point to one of them." I return to my previous task of combing through the code. It's difficult to concentrate however as I see comments begin to post from around the world, asking for the unsub to perform specific, terrible acts on the woman.

My fingers fly across the keyboard. Suddenly I see a line that isn't code, but rather a passage of text. _A esperança é a última que morre._ I copy it and send it to the team. "This is located within the websites code!"

"It's not Italian," says Rossi.

"It's not Spanish or French, either." confirms Emily.

"Wait!" exclaims Reid, "the c-cedilla, in esperança, it's a Latin script letter, most commonly used in Eastern European languages. But the one romance language that still retains it to an extensive degree is Portuguese."

I pull up both files and do a keyword search. "Sal Winters is second generation Brazilian-American, he speaks Portuguese fluently!"

"That has to be him. Baby Girl can you get us a current location?"

My fingers fly as I steadily ignore the video stream in the upper corner. " _Wicked_ is currently playing at the State Theater, but today the theatre is dark, let me run the GPS on his cell… Got it! Location is live on your tablets, go crime fighters!"

They hang up and I no longer have anything to distract me from the live video on my screen. A man, Sal Winters, I can only assume, is now walking around the woman hanging from her wrists. I can't see his face because of his ski mask but I can see the terror on her face, clear as day.

"We have a special treat today, everyone." He says in a low voice. "We have a very special guest."

He reaches of screen and messes with something. Suddenly a second, smaller screen opens in the corner of the website and to my horror I see my own face.

"Wh- wh… Ho- No!" I stutter in disbelief.

"Say hello to Penelope Garcia, the tech analyst for the BAU, ladies and gentlemen. Trying their hardest to try and get here to stop me, but we all know they will fail. So let's start the requests, shall we?"

Instantly a flurry of commands began to spill into the chat box. My hands are stilled above my keyboard in horror. Finally I come to my senses enough to push the call button and let the team know what is happening.

My skin begins to crawl as he begins to do unspeakable things to the young woman. She begins to scream and I instinctively cover my ears with my hands. This makes him laugh. "It's okay, Garcia, we're almost there," Emily yells to me over speakerphone.

"My, my. Can't handle it? Don't worry, it could always be worse. You don't even know this girl. Imagine if it was, I don't know… Jennifer Jareau. That's your press liaison, right? I did my research on your unit and man, after watching a few of her press conferences can I just say, 10 out of 10, would definitely fuck. Oh I can't even tell you the nasty things I would do to her."

There is dead air on the other side of the phone call and I know that every member of the team heard what he said. Tears pool in my eyes but I can't block out that the disturbing messages that begin to crop up in the chat room, also saying vile things about JJ. In that moment, my shock and horror turns to fury.

"Oh no. Oh no." I mutter as my fingers finally return to the keyboard. I hack into his website and go to town. My fingers move so fast that there are times when I'm not even sure what I'm doing. Sal just laughs and goes back to his sport. What he doesn't realize is that one by one I'm isolating his viewers and freezing their computers. They can no longer watch but they can't leave the website. I pull their respective IP addresses and have them forward to a separate file to later prosecute. In fact, Sal doesn't notice until they're all frozen out and the chat room is still. He pauses in his torment and reaches off camera again, presumably to mess with his computer. He comes back into view and leans close to the camera.

"You fucking bitch, I will hunt you down and-" There is a loud bang off screen and his head jerks to look at something I can't see. I hear Hotch call out FBI and it feels like I can finally draw air into my lungs. Sal Winters moves as if to step towards the woman but there is a loud crack and he drops to the ground. I see Rossi and Emily quickly unchain the woman and call for a medic. Derek steps in front of the camera and looks right at me.

"We got him, Mama. He's gone."

I nod and take the final steps needed to disconnect the web server. My screen goes black and I can see my reflection. Tears are still running down my face as I am powerless to stop them. I rub my hands up and down my thighs and realize that my hands are shaking like mad.

This is why I stay in my fortress. It's so that I don't have to see and hear firsthand the evil of the world. I feel oddly violated, as if Sal Winters had been in this room with me. I pull off my headset and place it to the side. Then I slowly turn off each monitor. I don't power down the hard drives, I'm not a crazy person, but in this moment I can't take their electronic glow.

Later that night, I'm sitting in my armchair, knitting and listening to an old Perry Como record when someone buzzes at my door. I set down my yarn and needles and go to the intercom.

"Hello?" My voice is still kind of shaky and I hate it.

"Hey Garcia. Can I come up?" JJ says.

I sigh. "Is it just you?" Heaven knows I love Derek Morgan but I don't think I can handle his gorgeousness right now.

"It's just me." I buzz her up. A few minutes later she knocks at my door. I slide the lock and let her in. She takes off her scarf and coat, hanging them on the back of my dining room chair.

"What are you doing?"

"Knitting."

"Don't you usually watch Doctor What while you knit?"

I can't help but smile at her attempt towards the geek phenomenon. "It's Doctor Who, and usually, yes."

"Why not tonight?"

I shrug, putting a kettle on the stove for tea. "I'm taking a little break from technology."

"Yeah, I went to your office when we got back and you were nowhere to be found. I don't think I had ever seen your office so still and quiet," she jokes. We look at each other in silence for a moment. "Are you okay?" she asks.

I let out a nervous chuckle. "It seems kind of silly for you to be asking me that. You're the one who brought down a sadistic serial killer today."

"You're the one who had to watch until we got there."

Finally I can't bear it any longer. "JJ the awful things he said about you. I hated it and he said it in front of those other sickos and everyone was typing these awful things about you and I couldn't do anything to stop them, and I couldn't make it stop! I just want it all to stop!" I begin to cry in earnest and she wraps her arms around me, pulling me close.

"Hey," she says gently. "It's okay."

"No it's not! No one should get to speak about another person like that, and now those other awful men are thinking those things. Doesn't that scare you?"

She opens her mouth to speak but I cut her off in a rush. "I don't know if I can do this anymore. I mean it's hard enough just knowing that these guys exist, but having to look at their aftermath? Having to read about all of the sick, gross things they do? I can't do it anymore."

"Garcia-"

"I won't do it anymore."

"Hey. Look at me." I meet her eyes, my arms crossed over my chest. "You're right, okay? We really do see some awful things. And he shouldn't have said those awful things about me. But we're on the good guys' side. We're working to make sure there are less people like him running free."

"But he said-"

"I know what he said, Penelope. And I can't tell you that it didn't make me sick to my stomach. Because it did. It made me feel dirty in ways I can't even say. But I also know that he's dead. He will never be able to hurt another woman, ever again. Not me, not you, not anyone."

"And I know right now you're upset and you're mad and you're probably feeling hurt that he was able to orchestrate this using your pride and joy, technology, but you beat him at his own game. You are the one who found the phrase who led us to him. You are the one who found his location. You are the one who was able to isolate each of the sick bastards who was on that website. You did that. I know you're hurting, but you need to understand that we couldn't do anything we do without your talents. Honestly."

This time I pull her in for a hug. We stand in my kitchen like that for quite some time until the kettle begins to whistle. "Now how about you make us some tea, you put on Doctor Where, and we have a nice night celebrating that the good guys won?"

I can't help but giggle. "Sounds like a plan."


	7. Chapter 7

**(My lovelies! I present the final chapter of Sins. This has been such a wonderful writing challenge. I hope you have enjoyed reading it! If you did, I have a proposition:**

 **A dear friend suggested that I write a companion piece dealing with the agents and the 7 contrary values: Kindness, Abstinence, Liberality, Chastity, Humility, Diligence, and Patience. If this is something you would be interested in reading, please please PLEASE either leave a review letting me know as much or visit my profile to answer the poll I have posted.**

 **If you think that's a horrible idea... Well then go do those same things but say nay, haha.**

 **Anywho, I hope you enjoy the closing chapter. It has several mentions of child abuse, so if that is a trigger for you, please consider before reading.**

 **Thanks! Jordon)**

Wrath: (noun) strong, stern, or fierce anger; deeply resentful indignation; ire; vengeance or punishment as the consequence of anger.

"… _but for Cain and his offering he [the LORD] had no regard. So Cain was very angry, and his face fell. The LORD said to Cain, "Why are you angry, and why has your face fallen? If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is crouching at the door. Its desire is for you, but you must rule over it." Cain spoke to Abel his brother. And when they were in the field, Cain rose up against his brother Abel and killed him." Genisis 4:5-8_

Aaron Hotchner: Wrath

We've been in Las Vegas, New Mexico for over a week. Every day local men, white, middle aged, blue collar, had been going missing, only to be found later that day savagely beaten to death. The level of carnage being wrought by the unsub… There was very little we didn't see in our line of work, but I had rarely seen the amount of rage he displayed towards his victims. To be make it worse, we constantly seemed two steps behind.

We had tried warning the town and surrounding counties about the serial killer that was at large, but our attempts were largely met with resistance. JJ delivered a press conference the third day urging everyone to remain on alert and to display caution, remaining in their homes when at all possible, but she had been openly jeered and mocked. The townspeople were largely distrustful of the government and considered us to be meddling where we didn't belong. To make it worse, the men considered themselves to be impervious to the sadistic mind we were hunting; several times I heard men say that they wished he would only try, that they would be ready and waiting with shotgun in hand if he did. So every morning another man disappeared and every evening we discovered another bloodied, broken corpse.

However, the unsub had made a mistake on his last seemed to be devolving; in his fury and haste he didn't secure the man's hands as tightly as he should have and the victim had gotten in a few swings, as well as managing to scratch his attacker. The ME pulled DNA from the blood under his nails and got a hit in CODIS. In our profile, we had hypothesized that the unsub was a white male in his thirties. We assummed due to the local population, his ability to transport and hide the victims, and physical strength, that he was a blue collar worker. The victims were inferred to be a substitute for the unsubs real target, likely a father figure or boss.

Coy Boley was a 32 year old construction worker, born and raised in the Sangre de Cristo mountains just outside of town. From what Garcia could dig up, it looked as though the Boley family was entirely unhappy. The patriarch, Jim Owen, was by all acounts an abusive alcoholic who laid hands on both kids and his wife Murlene. She passed away when Coy was eight and younger sister Destiny was five. The medical reports ruled her death as an accident, apparently she had tripped on a toy and taken a fall down a flight of stairs, but most of the town remained convinced that Jim Owen had taken his abuse too far and murdered her. After their mother's death, the abuse the Boley children endured intensified. Coy left as soon as he graduated, roaming cities throughout the southwest such as Provo and Tuscon. Destiny on the other hand remained living with her father. She was diagnosed with terminal skin cancer seven months ago, prompting Coy to move back home to help with her care.

She had passed away a month ago, and the murders had begun just a fortnight later. We could only guess that Jim Owen had begun to beat on his son again and the combination of the abuse and his sister's death had pushed Coy to a breaking point.

Another man had gone missing this morning but unfortunately we had no leads to where to find Coy. When we had arrived on the Boley family land, Jim Owen had proved thoroughly uncooperative and had even threatened us with a rifle. He had promptly been taken into custody and taken back to the precinct. A search of the property came up empty.

I follow Dave back to the SUV and get into the passenger's seat. I dispatch Morgan, Emily, and JJ to the construction sight where Coy had been recently employed at. Reid gets in the back seat and we set course for the police station. As we are in route, my phone rings.

"Garcia, you're on speaker phone."

"Okay so unfortunately this isn't one of those calls where I wow you with my tactical prowess. I'm combing through family financial records but as of this moment in time, zilch, nada. I'm not giving up though, I'm going to dive back in. I was wondering though if you happened to have any new info that would make my task a teeny bit easier?"

"That's a negative, Garcia. We didn't find anything at the Boley residence, other than a mean old drunk who tried to threaten us. We're on our way to question him; Derek, Emily, and Jen are headed to scope out the construction site." Dave answers.

"Bollucks. Okay, never fear. I can do this, just give me some time. PG out." With a beep she disconnects. I grit my teeth infrustration. _Where the hell is this son of a bitch?_

When we arrive at the police station, they already have Jim Owen in an interrogation room. We send Dave in first, trying to gauge who has the best chance of extracting information on Coy's location.

He tries for several minutes but recieves nothing but scornful remarks. He rejoins us and Reid takes his place. Once again, nothing useful. I'm starting to wonder if I made a mistake insending both of our female agents to the construction site, if maybe they would have a better chance of connecting with him when Jim Owen sits up a little straighter and look Reid right in the eyes.

"You think you're gonna come in here and tell me what's what? You?" He lets out a derisive laugh. "You look like a stick figure come to life, you know that?"

Reid clears his throat. "I'm not here to tell you anything. I just want to know where you're son, Coy, is."

He leans in until their faces are just inches apart. "You think you're something special, I can tell. What with your book learning and your fance tie and your long hair… You think you're better than me? I could break you with one hand behind my back." He leans back in his chair and sucks on his teeth. "You're not even worth it. A skinny thing like you. One good thwack and you'd be done. City boys, you're all the same."

He lapses into silence and I know what needs to be done. I rap on the door for Reid to rejoin us. Once the door shuts behind him, I loosen my tie and pull it over my head, handing it to the young agent.

"Hold this. Dave, turn off the cameras."

He tilts his head carefully to the side. "Be careful, Aaron." I hold his gaze until he reaches over and switches them off.

I walk into the room and unlock his cuffs. He stares at me with suspicion, rubbing at his now free wrists.

"Who are you?"

"It doesn't really matter. Where is Coy?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because he's murdering innocent men."

He snorts, "Coy? Yeah right. That piece of shit couldn't murder anyone. Too much of his Momma in him. He's soft."

"Unlike you?"

His thin lips stretch into a grin. "That's right. My daddy was tough and sharp, like barbed wire. He raised me to be the same."

"You need to tell me where Coy is."

"You need to stop telling me what to do. I'm not like that little pansy that you sent in. I'm not afraid of you."

This time, it's me who gives a humorless smile. "Is that so?"

He stands and walks to the barred window in the corner. He looks out for a moment and then turns back to me. "Why would I be afraid of you? Oh yeah, you're a big shot compared to that scrawny kid you sent in, but we both know that it's all a bluff. You're just a big, puffed up government 've done nothing with your life. You're all alone in this world."

His words are striking a specific chord within my gut, but I push down the rising anger, I quiet the memories that his insults dredge to the surface.

"Where is Coy?"

"Oh ho ho! What, Mr. FBI is suddenly all business? Doesn't want to play anymore games? Tell me, is your wife proud of all you do? Does she go into the salon and sit with all her rich bitch little friends and fawn about how _brave_ you are? Oh that's right. Judging by your left hand, you don't have a wife. You have no one."

I keep my face a mask. I can't let him know the reaction his words are getting. It will just feed his ego and won't gain us any info on his son's location. He walks closer to the table, resting his hand on the edge and leaning down towards my face.

"You're nothing. I know bastards like you. Hell, I raised one just like you. Always trying to make everyone proud. Trying to be 'a good boy.' But it never works because at your core you're rotten. You're worthless. I know it, you know it, everyone you work with knows it. You're nothing but a disappointment."

Something inside me snaps. I reach up and fist my fingers in the grey hair at the nape of his neck, banging his face into the table. His eyebrow splits open and blood begins to trickle down his face.

 _I'm eight years old. I've just presented my father with my latest report card. All As except for a B in English. I stand in front of him, eyes trained on my feet, hands clasped behind my back as he studies it, glass of whiskey clasped in his hand. He sits it down with a soft clink and then he hits me across the face. Tears fill my eyes. "What is this? A B? You're a disappointment. This isn't good enough." The tears begin to flow down my cheeks and it only further provokes his ire. "Oh I'll give you something to cry about, boy." His hand goes to his belt and he removes it from his pants._

I'm on my feet. I land a solid right hook, knocking him sideways. He regains his balance and counters with his own punch. I parry and bring my elbow up into his nose as hard as I can.

 _I'm twelve years old. Sean spills his milk at dinner and Dad grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulling him out of his chair. My mother remains in her seat, staring at her plate. I leap to standing. "Leave him alone!" I yell without thinking. He releases my brother and instead rounds on me. He grabs my arm and uses his grip to hold me in place while he lands a slap across my face. He then shoves me across the kitchen. I fall, slamming my face into the countertop._

In my red haze, I'm sloppy and he Jim Owen gets in a solid punch. I recover and retaliate with my own hit , followed by a knee to his stomach. He stays hunched over, his breath coming in wheezes.

 _I'm sixteen. I've taken Haley out to the movies and now we're parked at the town park. We've been kissing for what seemes like hours. We've been dating for several months and our physical relationship has been slowly developping. My hand is massaging her chest through her shirt when she places a tennative hand on my belt . I help her undo the belt buckle and fly and she eases her small, soft hand inside my boxers. It's the best thing I've ever felt and I barely have a handle on myself when suddenly my door is wrenched open. My father's silhouette is outlined by the streetlamps and I can only stare at him in horror for a moment as Haley draws back her hand in shock. Then he grabs me and drags me from the truck, throwing me to the ground. I hit my shoulder hard and I grit my teeth against the pain as I hurriedly refasten my pants and belt. He lands a kick to my ribs and I can't help but cry out. "Stop it! You're hurting him!" I hear Haley shout. She has gotten out of the pick up and is now standing by the hood, her face a picture of terror. He spins towards her and yells for her to get out of there, that this didn't concern her. I slowly get to my feet and tell her to go. He back hands me across the face and it's all I can do to stay on my feet. "Go Haley. Run!" She stumbles a few steps backwards and then turns. I watch as my future wife and mother of my child runs into the night as my father hits me again and again._

I shove him backwards with my foot and follow him to the ground. I wrap my hands around his thoat. "I may be worthless, but I can sure as hell beat the shit out of you. Now you have five seconds. Tell me where to find Coy or I swear to God… I will kill you. And I won't lose a single wink of sleep over it." He groans and I tighten my grasp. "Try me."

"We have… an old hunting lodge. It's on a couple acres in Murlene's brother's name. That's where he would steal away when he was a teenager. That's the only place her could be."

A voice in the back of my mind tells me that's far enough. That it's time to let go. But as I stare down into the face of this man, I can see no one but the man who raised me, the father who died before I hd a chance to stand up to him. My fingers twitch to squeeze harder, to watch the life drain from his eyes. But in the next instant I picture these same hands craddling a newborn Jack. I see them brush a hair from Haley's beautiful eyes.

I loosen my grip and sit back on my heels. As I come to a standing position he rolls onto his side and coughs violently. My pulse is still racing as I retreat through the interrogation room door. Dave does a good job of masking his emotions but Reid has a harder time concealing his shock and what could only be described as fear.

"Did you get the info to Garcia?" I ask. My voice is low and gravelly. I take my tie from Reid's limp hands and return it to it's position around my neck.

"Yeah, she… She's searching reords now. She should have it any-" He's interrupted by a ping as the location is streamed from Garcia's lair to our devices.

As we make our way to the SUV, Reid gets on the phone to relay the news to the rest of the team. Dave lightly touches my shoulder. "You okay?"

I nod curtly. "Yeah. I just… I will be. Let's just find this guy." He nods and we get into the car. I take several deep breaths as I stare out the window. I can't help but chastize myself for losing control. I spent the majority of every day making sure that I wasn't my father, doing everything I could to live of above the rage that rooted deep in my soul. As we speed across the New Mexico landscape, I can't help but fear what has been woken up inside of me.


End file.
